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Sea Lion
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Broken Wings
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Escape Artist
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Dance Monkey
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Crack Pipes
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The Buzz Kill
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Gunz Yo
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Crumble
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Inherited Scars
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Product Placement
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Climb Trees
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Bridle
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Agony in Her Body
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Voice Mail Bomb Threat
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Personal Journalist
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Jah Didn't Kill Johnny
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Slow Down Gandhi
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Lie Detector Test
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Ground Control
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Got Up This Morning
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The Best Of Times
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Different
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Makeshift Patriot
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Sun Vs. Moon
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Runaways
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Smoke And Mirrors
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Civil Obedience
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Message Sent
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Specialist
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Hopeless
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Good Fashion
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Waterline
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Eviction Notice
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Underground For Dummies
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Black Sweatshirt
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Clickety Clack
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Cup of Tea
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Black Out On White Night
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Keep Moving
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Little Houdini
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Hell Of A Year
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My Name Is Strange
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High Step
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Midgets and Giants
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Call Me Francois
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Growing Pains
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Hoofprints In The Sand
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Sun Vs Moon
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Going Back To Rehab
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Slow Man
There once was a song called "Arrest The President."
Contemporary music, a hit with the kids, it was a top ten.
I wasn't pop then, so I missed the bus a bit,
But politics was on everybody's hot this summer list.
The cool kids were all rocking votes,
I shit you not, I was pistol whippin' cops for hip hop. (Booyea!)
On my soap box yelling into megaphones.
Killing hard rocks using carcasses as stepping stones.
Had to promise that I'd stop holding my marches
The day that Chris Columbus got crucified on golden arches.
My pedestal was too tall to climb off,
In fact that's the reason for the high horse.
And from up here I see Marines and Hummers on a conquest;
Underdogs with wonderbras in a push-up contest,
All for the sake of military recruitment.
It felt like Kent State the way they targeted the students,
I galloped off whistling "Ohio."
The rest of them, stuck doing stand up at a cricket convention.
What would they die for? (repeat)
Is it the same machine that leaves the quality of life poor?
An abominable colony of cyborgs?
Clogging up the property that I bought with eyesores?
That clever ad campaign ain't worth
The time taken from minimum wage labor;
I don't care how half-naked or fake she looks,
She smells like dirty cash and aged paper books.
What would she die for?
Slow down Gandhi, you're killin' em
Slow down Gandhi, you're killin' em.
Now it's whistle blower vs. the pistol holder;
Case dismissed, they'll lock you up and throw away the key witness.
Justice is the whim of a judge, check his chest density,
It leaves much room for error, and the rest left to destiny.
The West Memphis 3 lost paradise,
It's death penalty vs. suicidal tendencies.
All I wanted was a fucking Pepsi.
Institution.
Making you think you're crazy is a billion dollar industry.
If they could sell sanity in a bottle
They'd be charging for compressed air,
...
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